


Turkey Day

by lalalalalawhy



Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Burgers are sexy, Consensual Infidelity, Episode: s04e05 Turkey in a Can, First Time, Food, Gay Character, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Linda is open to Bob trying new things, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/pseuds/lalalalalawhy
Summary: Bob calls the Deli Guy back, and things get exciting.(Turns out he's a butcher. Bob finds this incredibly hot.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place immediately after Season 4, Episode 5: Turkey in a Can. [Here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BkdCC7_JZM) a great video detailing Bob and Deli Guy's canon relationship.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving!

“I’m gonna see you tomorrow!” the Deli Guy yelled as Bob Belcher, professional cook who happened to be dealing with a turkey-toilet-bandit, walked out the door with his fifth turkey purchase of the week.

“Probably not!” Bob yelled back, and then, “I’ll call you!”

The words were out before he could reconsider, and it was already too late. Of course he wouldn’t call Deli Guy. Like Bob had said, he was out of Bob’s league; way too attractive. Besides, Bob was mostly straight, and married. To a woman. Who he loved. And this guy had Tony, even though it maybe wasn’t going great with Tony. Because of the dancing? Hard to say.

In the meantime, he had more important things to do than call Deli Guy, like prove he could save Thanksgiving from the clutches of… well, whoever kept dumping the turkey in the toilet.

Bob loved turkey, he loved Thanksgiving, he loved his family, and even if he couldn’t do a full Father of the Brine preparation, he would still save Christmas!

Wait, no. Thanksgiving. He was going to save Thanksgiving!

Bob opened the passenger’s side door and carefully buckled the turkey in. Almost subconsciously, he patted his pocket where he’d tucked Deli Guy’s number yesterday.

* * *

That night, after all the pumpkin pie and mashed potatoes had been eaten, after the post-Thanksgiving dinner meal of hamburgers that he’d had to make everyone at about 3pm, after Linda had shared three bottles of wine with Gayle (Linda did most of the drinking, Gayle did most of the crying), Bob could finally relax. Linda was on the bed singing to herself as Bob got ready to take a shower. He emptied his pockets onto the dresser, and found the little piece of paper that he’d folded with Deli Guy’s number.

He chuckled to himself as he grabbed his pajamas and gave Linda a quick kiss.

“When I get back,” he said, “I have a funny story.”

In the shower, he let the hot water rinse over him, clearing out his sinuses from the infernal cat hair and washing off the turkey smell and toilet water. How had this holiday gone so far off the rails? He knew better than to expect peaceful tradition in this family, but wow, this year had really been one for the record books.

As he lathered, Bob’s mind drifted to the Deli Guy, who was probably just wrapping up dinner with Tony. He and Tony had probably had a great turkey, properly brined and everything. Maybe they were happily dancing. Bob smiled at the thought, and then looked down at his dick, fully at half-mast.

Bob shook his head and turned the water all the way cold to rinse off.

Linda had changed into her nightgown and was sitting on the edge of the bed, humming, when Bob re-entered the room.

“Bobby!” she said, her arms outstretched toward him, delighted that he was back. “Come here and tell me your funny story!”

“Oh, it’s… not that funny,” Bob said, hugging her and using his leverage to pick her up enough to flip back the covers and set her back down.

“You thought it was funny before your shower,” she said.

“Yeah. It’s just… this guy, at the Deli Counter, he thought I kept going back for all the turkeys because I was… flirting with him.” Bob crossed to his side of the bed and laid down.

“And were you?” Linda asked, turning to face him. She waggled her eyebrows a little.

“Lin, come on,” Bob said.

“What? I know you, I know you like to flirt! You’re my little flirty bird,” she said, and booped him on the nose.

“Well. Maybe I was,” Bob said, sighing. “But I’m not really…”

Linda cut him off. “Did he give you his number?”

Bob laughed. His wife was something else.

“Yeah, yeah he did. He gave it to me yesterday, and then today tried to get me to go have sex with him in a storage closet.”

“And?”

“And what?” Bob asked.

“Did you do it?” Linda asked.

“Lin!” Bob said, offended. “Of course not! I’m married to you! And I’m straight! Well, I’m mostly straight!”

“Bobby, come on, you’ve always been at least a little bi-curious,” she said. “Remember Dr. Turner?”

“Who’s Dr. Turner?”

“My gynecologist. You couldn’t stop talking about how handsome he was!” Linda said.

“Well…” Bob said.

“And I know how much you love Spy Crimes movies, and it’s not because you love law-breaking espionage!” Linda said, pulling Bob’s hand to her cheek and nuzzling into it. “It’s because of that Russell Crooney.”

She was grinning under his hand.

“I mean…”

“I think you should go for it,” she said, suddenly.

Bob jumped like he’d been shocked by the faulty wiring in the electric griddle. “What?!” he asked.

“Shhhh, Bobby,” Linda said, giggling. “Don’t yell. I just think you should give him a call.”

“What? Really?” Bob asked, incredulous.

“Yeah!” she said. “Bobby, I know you love me, and I want you to be able to explore every part of yourself.”

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, sighing. “Besides,” she said, “turkeys turn me on, but you know what else is really hot? You getting it on with the guy who makes the turkeys.”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t make the turkeys,” Bob said.

“Well he prepares the turkeys, wraps them up all tight in their little plastic…” Linda paused. Her face was visibly flushed. “Whoo! Bobby, you better kiss me!”

Bob did.

* * *

The next morning, Bob woke up and groaned. His forearms were covered in cat scratches, and he had no idea where they came from.

He groaned again as he put ointment on the scratches, remembering last night’s conversation. Maybe Linda would just forget.

“Bobby, is this his number?” Linda asked, brandishing the receipt scrawled with Deli Guy’s digits, as soon as he walked back into the room.

Bob groaned again.

“Yes, it is,” he said, “and I’m throwing it away now.”

“What? Bobby, why? I thought you were going to call him!”

“Linda, you were drunk last night.”

“So?” Linda said, smiling. “I think you should call him.”

“You’re really okay with this?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You should get to go sow some wild oats if that’s what you need to do.”

“Gross.”

“Also, it might come in handy later, when Gene figures out whatever he’s going to figure out,” Linda said. “We should have some life experiences!”

“Lin, there’s no way we’re going to have enough life experiences for that,” Bob said.

“Might as well get a start,” Linda said. “You should call the Deli Guy.”

“I don’t want to cheat on you,” Bob said.

“Who said anything about cheating, Bobby?” Linda asked, then gasped. “Unless you’re falling in love with him. Are you falling in love with him? You have to tell me if you’re falling in love with him.”

“What? No! He sold me a turkey.” Bob reconsidered. “He sold me five turkeys. I’m not in love with him.”

“And do you think you can sleep with him without falling in love with him?” Linda asked.

Bob chuckled to himself. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“Then you should do it!” Linda said, jumping up. “I’m going to take a shower. You should call him.”

“He’s probably still with Tony!” Bob called to Linda’s back as she walked down the hallway.

“I can’t hear you!” she called back to him, before breaking into song.

Bob listened for a second. It was “Save the Last Dance for Me” by The Drifters.

As Linda crooned, “Just remember who's taking you home, and in whose arms you want to be,” Bob picked up Deli Guy’s phone number, and walked over to the telephone.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Later that evening, Bob stood on the beach just south of the boardwalk. The air was brisk and smelled like the ocean, and the breeze was a little chillier than he’d anticipated. Bob zipped up his jacket all the way to his chin and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Hey!” Deli Guy said, jogging over to him. “I didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“Hey,” Bob said. “I’m here. You thought I wouldn’t be?”

“You seemed awfully flighty when you bought that last turkey,” Deli Guy said. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah,” Bob said, then remembered to ask, “How’s Tony?”

“Oh, yeah, Tony,” Deli Guy said. “Yeah, we broke up yesterday. He’s probably still crying into his pumpkin pie leftovers, but he’ll be fine.”

“There’s… no more Tony?” Bob asked. He started walking, slowly, down the beach, and Deli Guy followed with him.

“Well, he didn’t die, Bob,” Deli Guy said.

“Right. Right. Right,” Bob said, half to himself. “But this is… okay?”

“Yeah, Bob, it’s okay. Is it okay for you?”

“Yeah, it mostly is, I think. Yeah, it is. It’s okay,” Bob said, and smiled, tentatively, at the other man. “Well… except, I don’t know your name. I’ve just been calling you the Deli Guy.”

“Deli Guy?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bob said, chuckling.

“You know I’m the butcher, right?”

Bob stopped in his tracks. That was actually... It was actually really hot.

“You’re the butcher?” he asked, and he couldn’t help the color rising in his cheeks. “You spend all day, just, cutting up meat?”

“Yeah,” said the butcher. “Why? Are you… into that?”

“I own a burger restaurant,” Bob said, by way of explanation. “Also, yes, I am apparently very into that.”

They started walking again.

“My name’s Bill, by the way,” Bill said.

“Oh, thank God,” Bob said. “I thought I was going to have to ask again.”

Bill grabbed Bob’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at Bob. “Do you want to go back to my place?”

“Do you have any beef there?” Bob asked. “And also a food processor?”

“Weird question, Bob, but yes,” Bill said. “I’m a _butcher_.”

The tone of his voice and the way he said “butcher” made something in Bob’s stomach drop straight to his dick.

“Can I… can I make you a burger?” Bob asked, but Bill just laughed and turned to walk toward his car.

“Is that a yes?” Bob called after him, jogging to keep up.

“Yeah it is, Sloppy Bear,” Bill said. Bob kind of liked the nickname.

* * *

Back at Bill’s apartment, Bob cubed three pounds of chuck steak and stuck them, along with the blade of Bill’s food processor, in the freezer. He closed the freezer door, washed the few dishes he’d used, and looked at his watch.

The beef had to sit in the freezer for ten more minutes. He suddenly felt very self-conscious.

From the corner of the kitchen, Bill was watching him with hooded eyes.

“You certainly know your way around a cut of meat,” he said.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Bob said. “I’ve been making burgers my whole life.”

Bill slowly crossed the kitchen to where Bob was trying to lean, nonchalantly, against the counter. His face was suddenly close to Bob’s, his breath hot on Bob’s cheek.

“Did you set a timer?” Bill asked.

“Um, no, it’ll only take ten minutes,” Bob said.

“Set a timer,” Bill said. “There’s a lot that can happen in ten minutes.”

Bob fiddled with his watch and managed to set a timer for ten minutes. Bill took him by the hand and led him over to the couch. They sat down, and Bob hadn’t been so aware of his proximity to another human being in years. He could feel the heat radiating off of Bill’s thigh, even though they weren’t touching.

Bill looked at him. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” Bob asked back.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Bill asked. “I thought that was what we were here for.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Bob said, and leaned in, tentatively.

Their first kiss was gentle, sweet. It felt strange to be kissing someone who wasn’t Linda, but Bob was surprised that kissing a man--kissing Bill--felt so normal. Bill leaned into the kiss and brought his hand up to cup Bob’s face, running a thumb from the edge of his mustache down to his chin. Bob’s neck twinged from the angle, and he tried to twist himself so he’d be in a better position.

“What are you… do you need…” Bill started to ask as Bob shifted on the couch.

“I was just, ah, trying for a different angle,” Bob said.

“Oh,” Bill said. “I can help with that.” He stood up for a moment, then sat right down on Bob’s lap, one knee on either side of Bob’s hips.

“Oh!” Bob said, and then, “Oh,” as Bill took his face in both hands and kissed him long and hard.

Bob breathed in sharply at the feeling of it, and opened his mouth against Bill’s lips, deepening the kiss. Bill, for his part, kissed Bob hard, leaning into it.

Bob could feel himself getting hard; his pants were getting uncomfortable. And when he glanced down, he saw Bill was in the same predicament. He let his hand rest halfway up Bill’s thigh and rubbed his thumb against Bill’s inseam. Bill groaned and began to move his hips slightly, trying to get closer to Bob’s hand.

Bob’s watch started beeping, and Bill nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise.

“It’s, ah, it’s the meat,” Bob said, then realized how it sounded. “I… uh... can make the burgers now.”

“Now?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I have to do it now,” Bob said. “Otherwise it’ll freeze solid and the grind will be all wrong.”

“Okay,” Bill said, “I’m placing a bookmark right here. This is where we’re coming back to after the burgers.”

Bob took the beef out of the freezer, along with the blade, and tossed it all in the food processor. He pulsed the meat until it was a medium grind, red with tiny specks of white fat throughout, then shaped it into two patties. He didn't add anything to them: a well-ground burger didn't need an egg or breadcrumbs to hold its structure. The best burgers were just beef, well-shaped and cooked to perfection.

“Do you have a…” Bob glanced up at Bill and trailed off. Bill was watching him work, hungrily eyeing Bob’s hands as he shaped the burgers.

Bill tore his gaze away and looked at Bob with a dreamy look. “A what?”

“I, uh, I need a pan of some sort,” Bob said.

Bill nodded, and opened a drawer to reveal the best-seasoned cast iron pan Bob had ever seen. It's surface was as smooth as a lake on a calm summer day, and nearly as shiny. Bob set the pan to heating up and opened the fridge.

“Do you mind…” he asked halfheartedly, rummaging through the shelves.

“Go ahead,” Bill said, and Bob could hear the smile in his voice.

Bob found some leftovers from Bill’s Thanksgiving dinner: a turkey thigh, some stuffing, cranberry sauce, a couple of large rolls, and a whole lot of mashed potatoes. His brain began to prickle like it did every time he came up with a new burger.

Bob washed out the food processor, then, in a near trance, blended together eggs and oil until he had mayonnaise. He added two tablespoons of cranberry sauce, a handful of stuffing, and some mashed potatoes, pulsing until he got his desired consistency.

Bob set the two buns to toast on the nearly-hot pan, and pulled out a head of romaine lettuce from the fridge. He chose two of the nicest leaves, and rinsed them off, before removing the rolls, spreading them with butter, and then setting them aside on two plates.

The pan had just barely started to smoke, so Bob turned the heat down and levered on the burger patties, which began to sizzle.

The scent of cooking beef was familiar and safe. Bob didn't want to admit that he may have gotten himself in over his head. He still wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here, even if his penis had a pretty good idea about it. But he was calm as he watched the patties turn from bright pink to caramel brown. Bob flipped them at just the right moment, and the renewed sizzle again allowed some of the tension he didn't know he'd been holding in to again leave his shoulders.

Steam rose, gently, from the cooking meat, and the fat glistened, catching the light. Bob watched as the burgers turned from raw potential into something more, something delicious. He looked back at Bill, whose eyes were still on his hands as he maneuvered the pan and the meat within. Watching Bill carefully, Bob gripped the handle of the spatula with more purpose, and rubbed his thumb over the end of the handle. Bill bit his lip, and the sight of him doing it went straight to Bob’s dick.

He took a deep breath as he turned off the stove. The residual heat from the pan would do the rest of the work, and besides, he wanted his burger tonight to be slightly rare.

Bob got the turkey thigh and sliced off two thin pieces, slathering them with a generous helping of his leftovers aioli. He placed that, along with the lettuce leaf, on the top bun, and he smeared a thin layer of extra cranberry sauce on the bottom bun. He carefully levered the burger out of the pan and placed it gently on the bottom bun. He closed the burger, and walked the plates over to Bill.

“I don't know what I'm calling it yet,” Bob said. “I usually do some sort of clever name.”

“How about Bob’s Special?” Bill asked.

Bob considered objecting, saying no, he already had a special, but he bit his tongue. This was pretty special, he thought to himself. It could be Bob’s Special for tonight.

Bill bit into the burger and moaned with pleasure.


	3. Chapter 3

Bob used kosher salt to scrub out the cast iron pan, and set on low heat to dry while he quickly washed the rest of the dishes. Bill sat and watched him work.

He turned off the heat of the pan, tossed the dish towel over his shoulder, and turned around. He glanced around, looking up, down, almost anywhere but at Bill, the color rising in his cheeks.

“Um, so, um,” he said, still not looking at Bill. “What happens now?”

“Well,” Bill said, “now we head into the living room and sit back down on the couch. You’re going to give me a hand job and then I’m going to suck you off.”

Bob looked up and saw he was grinning.

“What you do for the rest of the night is your business,” Bill said. “How does that sound?”

“That actually sounds good,” Bob said, “yeah, good,” and flipped the dish towel back over the rim of the sink.

His confidence lasted exactly until he sat next to Bill on the couch, and his heart started beating out of his chest. He felt like a teenager at a movie, waiting for his date to reach into the popcorn bucket. Luckily, Bill broke the spell.

“Bookmark,” he said, and climbed up on Bob’s lap.

“What?” Bob asked, tensing up.

“Bookmark!” Bill said. “This is right where we were before dinner.”

“Oh, right,” Bob said, and relaxed a fraction.

“Now,” Bill said, “show me those hands.”

“What?” Bob said.

“Your hands!” Bill exclaimed, seizing Bob’s shoulders and giving them a little shake. “They’re wonderful! I watched them make the burgers and they were… augh! Just right there! Doing things!”

“Okay,” Bob said, chuckling. “Here they are.”

Bob brought both of his hands up between them, and Bill grabbed them. He placed one of Bob’s hands on the side of his face, leaning into it, nuzzling at it with the corner of his mouth. He brought the other one closer, nearly touching his nose with it, and licked the palm, from heel to fingers. His eyes were closed.

It was maybe the most erotic thing Bob had ever seen, but it also tickled a little bit.

Bob stifled a giggle, and Bill opened his hooded eyes, smiling, and leaned in for a kiss. Bob brought his other hand to the other side of Bill’s face and began rubbing little circles with his thumbs near Bill’s temples.

Bill sighed and leaned off of Bob’s lap, toppling slowly until he lay on his back with his legs still bracketing Bob. Bob could see the bulge of his erection right in front of him. He stared at it for a second, before leaning over and carefully unbuttoning Bill’s shirt. He made sure to skim the skin underneath his shirt with his fingers, taking his time with each button and exaggerating each movement with his hands.

When Bill’s shirt was unbuttoned, Bob reached up and leaned over to kiss his chest, and Bill let out a small noise of discomfort.

“No?” Bob asked.

“Just… just your hands,” Bill said looking up at him imploringly. “I need them on me.”

Bob reached out with both hands and ran his palms from Bill’s collarbone to his waist. Bill’s body responded to his touch: his back arching up, his skin breaking out in goosebumps wherever his hands went. Bill was watching his hands’ every move intently, his pupils blown out. He reached up and palmed Bill’s nipples; he wasn’t sure if it worked the same way for men, but Bill groaned and threw his head back, so that was alright.

Bob moved his hands down to Bill’s waist and went to work on his belt buckle, making sure Bill had a good view. He got it undone and was about to unbutton his fly, but instead leaned up and kissed Bill again for good measure, resting his hand on the bulge in Bill’s jeans.

Bill groaned into his kiss, and bucked his hips up into Bob’s hand insistently.

Bob broke the kiss and undid Bill’s fly, then carefully worked Bill’s jeans down his hips. Once free, Bob took a look at Bill’s dick. It was the first time he’d really considered another man’s penis (gym class didn't count), and he found he liked it.

Bill was uncircumcised, unlike Bob, and it looked a bit like his penis was wearing a little sweater. Bob liked it--he liked seeing the silhouette of the head of Bill’s penis and the very tip sticking out. Bill’s dick was thicker than his, but shorter, and had more of a curve to it. Bob tentatively reached out and took it in his hand, cupping Bill’s balls with his other. Bill took a deep, shuddering breath.

Bob began to work his hand up and down the shaft, using the other to massage Bill’s balls deeply, just like when he did it to himself. Bill’s foreskin made it easy to massage the shaft without lubrication, which made Bob happy. He’d been too shy to ask, and it was a relief not to have to. Bill groaned when Bob twisted his hand slightly and let his thumb skim the head, wicking away a couple of beads of precum.

Bill’s hips shuddered, and then found their rhythm. Bob found himself grinning as he worked Bill’s dick up and down, slightly faster now, listening to Bill’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Bob, I’m gonna-” Bill said, and then groaned long and low as his dick pumped out three long pulses of cum.

Bill whimpered, and Bob realized he still had his hand on Bill’s dick and balls. He let go, gently, and ran his finger through some of the come on Bill’s belly. He tasted it, tentatively, just to see.

It was interesting: salty and slightly meaty, sort of like caviar and smoked fish, but also not like that hardly at all. Maybe like gravy? Hm.

Bob realized he was staring at Bill, whose breath was slowing down. Bill opened his eyes and looked at Bob. “Yowza!” he said. “Who knew I could come so hard from just a handy? Your mitts are something else, Bob.”

“Th-thank you?” Bob said.

“No, thank you!” Bill said, wiping most of the come off his belly with some kleenexes from the coffee table. “Now,” he said, “your turn.”

“You don’t have to…” Bob said, nervously.

Bill laughed. “I want to, Bob! How’s it looking down there?” Bill reached down and gently stroked Bob’s crotch, where his dick had been sitting at half mast for a while.

“Good, good,” Bill said, and raised his eyebrows at Bob. “You ready for the best blow job of your life?” He got up and came to kneel between Bob’s knees.

Bob chuckled. “A little confident there?” he asked, and Bill just grinned, unbuttoning Bob’s fly and pulling down Bob’s slacks.

It was a little weird to be in his underwear somewhere that wasn’t his bedroom, and to have someone touch it who wasn’t Linda, but that train of thought stopped in its tracks as soon as Bill began to massage his dick through his boxer shorts.

Bob let out a sort of strangled yelp as Bill mouthed his dick through the thin cotton, hot and moist. Bill reached over and grabbed one of Bob’s hands pulling it into his mouth. Bill’s tongue swirled around his fingers as he pulled his boxers down around his ankles.

“Fuck,” Bob said, under his breath, and Bill smiled around his fingers.

Instinctively, Bob reached for his now-naked dick with his other hand, and Bill let out a small distressed sound. He let go of Bob’s other hand to lick at Bob’s fingers around his dick, setting off tiny fireworks behind Bob’s eyes.

Bob loosened his fingers and Bill gently moved them aside, then licked a long stripe up the shaft of Bob’s dick. Bob groaned, and Bill took him entirely in his mouth.

Later, when he was trying to tell Linda about it, Bob couldn’t remember all that Bill did to him, even though he was trying to pay attention. He knew there was swirling, and sucking, and Bill broke off to suck his fingers some more, and then, before he knew it, it was over, and Bill was smiling and swallowing his cum, which made Bob gulp and pant even more. He pulled Bill in for another kiss, running his fingers through Bill’s hair and over his shoulders, which made Bill shiver with pleasure.

They sat there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow, before Bob rose from the couch and pulled his pants back on.

“Hey,” he said. “I had a really nice time.”

“Hey, man, me too,” Bill said, smiling up at him. “Any chance you’ll need another,” he paused and waggled his eyebrows, “ _turkey_ anytime soon?”

Bob chuckled. “I’ll have to check with my wife,” he said, “but we usually eat turkey for Christmas dinner.”

“You check with that wife of yours, Bob,” Bill said as Bob opened Bill’s apartment door. “And I’ll be seeing you at the deli counter soon.”

“Maybe!” Bob called back, and then, “I’ll call you!”

**Author's Note:**

> (I really wanted to get this posted by Thanksgiving, which means I didn't have time for a beta! Let me know if you find anything.)


End file.
